SpikePuppet
by ghost02
Summary: BuffySpike. When Spike is turned into a puppet (think Angel in Smile Time), he decides to visit Buffy and Dawn in Rome, thinking they'll never realize the puppet is him. Spike's plans usually don't work out quite like he expects...
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: SpikePuppet 1/?  
AUTHOR: Kelso   
FEEDBACK: kelso28@excite.com   
SPOILERS: "Smile Time"  
RATING: Part 1 is PG. Rating could change in later parts.   
SUMMARY: I loved the Angel-puppet in "Smile Time," and I got to thinking what would happen if Spike was turned into a puppet. I decided he would go to visit Buffy, thinking she would never realize it was actually him, and plan to sneak away before she could figure out the truth. Spike's plans usually don't work out quite like he expects....   
WEBSITE: see my author profile for the link. I have B/A(us), B/S, and miscellaneous stories there.  
DISCLAIMER: "Buffy" and "Angel" characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
  
*****  
  
SpikePuppet 1/? 

What was a bored, purposeless, ensouled vampire to do with his time? Spike couldn't come up with a whole lot of options. 

He'd taken to hanging out at Wolfram & Hart at all hours, hoping at least to irritate Angel and make his existence count for something. Besides, he knew the gang had all sorts of fascinating secret items hidden away that they didn't want him to set eyes on. For instance, equipment relating to the whole Angel!Puppet incident. 

He'd caught sight of Wesley and Gunn shoving boxes related to that fiasco into a storage room when they'd thought no one was paying attention. Considering that he really had nothing better to do, early one morning before sunrise was even a whisper in the sky, Spike jimmied the lock on that same room's door and went snooping. 

At first glance, the contents of the room didn't seem very interesting. A jumble of boxes lay heaped in the near corner; Spike spotted a puppet arm sticking out of one. Another box contained a set of alphabet blocks, a carton of crayons, an Etch-a-Sketch, and various other toys. Surely this junk wasn't important enough to hide away, but Spike figured that just meant he hadn't yet hit the motherlode. 

He continued to dig around, and then he saw it: a trunk in the back of the room, obscured by a dark cloth draped over the top. The good stuff must be hidden inside it. Spike darted across the room, flipped back the blanket, and raised the lid of the trunk. 

It happened very quickly. A stunning white light seared his eyes, and the force of it sent him stumbling backward until he lost his balance and fell. 

For a few moments Spike lay on his back, feeling surprisingly weak. Then, as he regained his strength, he braced his right hand on the floor and began to sit up. He froze. Something was seriously wrong. He looked down at his hand. His felt hand. His felt hand that now had only three fingers and a thumb. 

It looked like Puppet!Angel's hand. 

Cautiously, Spike reached up to touch his face. He still had a nose, but it was soft and squishy and, yes, detachable. He had two detachable eyebrows as well (the left one even felt like it had the telltale scar scored through it). All of his parts, in fact, were there--except for the mysteriously absent fingers, but judging from Puppet!Angel's appearance, that lack was normal. 

Spike had to face the truth--like Angel, he had been turned into a puppet. 

As it turned out, he found himself more curious than concerned. He would doubtless be himself again before too long. After all, Angel had changed back to normal after being stuck as a puppet for three days. Spike had hoped the condition might prove permanent, but no such luck, since Wesley and Fred had apparently discovered a cure. If Angel could be fixed, so could Spike. 

Though being a puppet did appear to have some advantages, he mused. For instance, Puppet!Angel had been able to go out into the sunlight with no ill effects, and he'd had a reflection. 

Curiosity burned more brilliantly inside Spike. He wondered what, exactly, he looked like in his new form. The more he wondered, the more he had to know. He made another effort to stand up and test his legs. This time, he succeeded. His center of gravity significantly altered, he swayed for a moment before adjusting. Then, with steps that started out tentative but became bolder, he walked out of the room. 

A bathroom lay 20 feet down the hall. Spike clumped over to it, shoved open the door, and faced the mirror--only to find that at approximately three feet tall, he was too short to see into it. Undaunted, he grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled himself up to precariously balance on the rim, right in front of the mirror. 

He was pleased to see that his puppety appearance was far more appealing than Angel's. He thought he looked both sinister and dashing, from his mop of platinum hair to his bright blue eyes to his trademark duster. 

After a suitable interval of mirror-gazing, Spike turned his thoughts to another subject. He might make an attractive puppet, but he couldn't stay that way forever. He'd have to go to Angel and ask to be changed back. 

No. Scratch that thought. He'd approach Fred instead. She wouldn't laugh as hard. 

Spike jumped down from the sink, intent on camping out in Fred's office until she showed up for work. Then he stopped in his tracks as his mind worked furiously. There might be even more advantages to being a puppet than he had initially thought. He wasn't ready for Buffy to know he was "alive" again, but hadn't he just been handed a golden opportunity to see her up close, without her knowledge? If he visited her while in puppet form, she would be none the wiser. She couldn't possibly connect the sight of an inanimate object with the fact that Spike had been resurrected. All he had to do was be careful not to move around her during his brief drop-by. He could manage that much. 

Having come up with this brilliant idea, Spike was determined to implement it immediately. Obviously, first he had to get to Buffy. Cautiously, he popped his head out of the bathroom and scanned the hallway. Still empty. Perfect. If he hurried, he could make all the arrangements before employees started filtering in. The Wolfram & Hart security system would record his movements but he'd be gone before anyone knew what he was scheming. That was all the break he needed. 

Well, he needed Buffy's address too. Because of Andrew, he knew she was in Rome, but that information alone wasn't enough. He needed an exact address. Luckily, he was pretty damn sure that Angel had ferreted it out and was keeping it safe. 

Stumping along on his short little legs, Spike arrived outside Angel's office only to remember that of course it was locked at night. He found a way around that little problem by lifting the keyring Harmony had left at her work station. After some fumbling and several false tries, he found the key that fit Angel's door, sidled inside, flicked on the lights, and set to work. 

Clumsy rooting through the desk eventually resulted in success. Spike snatched up the precious address and retreated, careful to lock up after himself and replace the keys. Next stop: the mailroom. 

This place, too, was still devoid of workers. Spike searched until he found a puppet-sized "emergency rush delivery" box, denoting highest priority. The magical delivery system utilized by W&H would get him to Rome in mere seconds. He toted his box to what he thought was the head of the line and painstakingly labeled, "Buffy Summers, Via Speranza 212, Rome, Italy 00161." Then he clambered inside the carton, pulled the flaps down over himself, and settled down to wait. 

He had drifted off to sleep before the first employees began arriving for work. Hearing them move around, Spike crouched lower in the box. 

"Dammit, why do those lazy bastards always leave this crap for me to do?" an irritated voice whined from somewhere above him. 

Spike's box shook, and he felt the man firmly taping it shut. Then it was lifted into the air and he was jounced around while the employee carried the box across the room and set it down. 

"Rush on this one," the voice said. "Get it out of the way now." 

"Right," another man replied, and Spike felt himself being moved again. The box began to vibrate, slowly at first but building up to rapid movement before it abruptly stopped. 

Spike heard muffled voices again, only they were speaking Italian. He had obvously arrived in W&H's Rome center. He continued to lie still as the box was picked up and shifted to be placed aboard what he thought must be a truck. After a ride of about 10 minutes, the vehicle stopped and the box was tugged out and dropped down upon a hard surface. Nearby, a doorbell rang. Several seconds later, a door opened. 

A man's voice said something in Italian. Spike raised his head, straining to catch the words, and nearly jumped out of his puppet skin when a familiar voice said, "Grazie." Thank you. The voice was Dawn's. 

The deliveryman's footsteps faded away into the distance. Next, Spike felt someone (Dawn, almost certainly) tugging the box forward before she slammed the door behind them. 

"Buffy!" Dawn yelled. "You have a delivery!" 

Every muscle in Spike's little felt body tensed. He was finally about to see Buffy again. 

TBC 


	2. Puppet in the Box

_Last time: After being transformed into a puppet, Spike decided to visit Buffy in Rome, thinking she would never realize the puppet was him back from the dead. He arranged to have himself mailed to Buffy's new residence and arrived at the door._

SpikePuppet 2/? 

Spike tensed, bracing himself. Buffy would come running and open his box, and then... actually, he wasn't sure what would happen then. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd only thought about how he'd found the perfect opportunity to sneak in a clandestine visit to Buffy. He hadn't really considered her potential reactions to finding a Spike puppet on her doorstep. Would she laugh, cry, throw him in the fire? Seeing that it was Buffy, any or all of the above were possibilities. 

It was too late to try to escape even if he wanted to. Footsteps moved down the stairs and stopped near the box. "Aren't you supposed to be doing your homework, Dawn?" Buffy's voice said. 

"I had to answer the door," Dawn retorted. "Look at this big package you got." 

Spike tensed again, waiting for Buffy to rip off the tape and discover him. Instead there was a pause. 

"I wonder who it's from. I don't see a return label, and it looks like a child printed our address." 

Spike winced; he'd had to clutch the pen with both of his awkward new hands to get that job done. Being a puppet was a lot harder than he'd counted on. 

"Let's see what it is," Dawn urged. 

"All right." Buffy sounded amused as she began to unwrap the tape from around the box. 

'Don't blink when she looks at you,' Spike told himself, before remembering that, being a puppet, he couldn't blink. Good thing, too. If Buffy knew he'd returned to (un)life and hadn't told her, she'd be bound to pick the option of tossing him in the fire and stoking it. He forced himself to relax until he was lying limply at the bottom of the box, face down. He heard the last of the tape being ripped away and then the box flaps lifted above him. 

For a moment there was silence. Then came a puzzled, "What is it?" 

Spike scowled. That wasn't exactly one of the reactions he had envisioned. 

When he felt hands reaching into the box and grasping him, he schooled his features back into an expression of neutrality. Buffy tugged him out by his duster and flipped him over to see his face. 

Somehow Spike kept himself from moving, even as he saw Buffy and Dawn for the first time since the previous May. Dawn's hair was several shades darker and she looked like she'd grown another couple of inches. Buffy was a bit more tanned and a little thinner (not enough to indicate that she'd been pining away, though), but her hair remained long (Spike was pleased to see that she hadn't gone back to an unflattering short cut). 

"It's..." Buffy breathed. 

"It looks like Spike," Dawn inserted. "Look, you can tell by the hair.The eyes are off, though. Spike's were a lot beadier." 

"Wow." Buffy slowly examined the puppet, smoothing her fingers over the shrunken duster and the felt body. 

Spike repressed a shudder of pleasure and continued to gaze blankly, though it was hard when he saw the tears glistening in Buffy's eyes. 

Making matters more difficult, Dawn began to prod at his face. "Hey, he even has the scar." Then came a ripping noise Spike was sure could not signify anything good, and as he continued to stare ahead, he saw Dawn dangling his scarred eyebrow in front of Buffy. "It's detachable, see? Isn't that adorable?" She replaced the eyebrow and went back to exploring. "You can take his nose off, too. And his ears." She proceeded to do each of those things, replacing the pieces at her leisure. Next, her fingers dug around the puppet's eyes, trying to pry them up. Spike felt a growl rising in his chest. He loved Dawn, he really did, but she could be incredibly annoying at times. 

Luckily, Buffy came to his rescue, pulling him out of her sister's clutches. "Don't damage him. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get him made." Then a pertinent thought seemed to strike her. "But who did it?" 

"No return address," Dawn reminded her, indicating the box. 

"Also no postmark," Buffy noted. "Who delivered him?" 

Dawn shrugged. "I don't know. Some guy. He brought the box to the door, gave it to me, and left. I didn't even get a look at his truck or whatever." 

Buffy peered inside the box. "No note in there. That's weird." 

"Maybe it's inside the puppet," Dawn suggested. "You know, tucked inside the duster or something." 

Spike forced himself to remain still as Buffy's fingers undressed him in her search for a nonexistent note. Duster, shirt, pants... She stopped abruptly. "I think the question has now become, who would send me an anatomically correct Spike puppet?" 

"I wonder if that comes off too?" Dawn piped up. 

"Dawn, don't molest the puppet!" Buffy slapped her sister's hand away and restored Spike's clothing, much to his relief. "Well, I think we can be pretty damn sure Xander had nothing to do with this. Or Giles." 

"Probably not Willow or Kennedy either," Dawn added. "'Cause they know how you felt about Spike." 

Spike's ears pricked up (figuratively). How, exactly, had Buffy felt about him? He willed Dawn to elaborate. 

Naturally, she didn't. "I know who it was--Faith!" she yelped. "This is the sort of thing she would do, right?" 

"Faith?" Buffy considered. "I don't know. Maybe. More likely her than the others, I guess. Next time we hear from her I'll have to ask." She looked at the puppet again. "I have to say, he's very cute." 

Cute? Spike bristled inwardly. He wasn't cute. He was fierce and imposing and sinisterly handsome, not cute. 

"So cute, in fact, that he gets to sleep in my bed tonight," Buffy went on. 

Spike quickly decided that he didn't mind being called cute after all. 

TBC 

_Next time: Spike snoops in Buffy's room; bedtime arrives. _


	3. Peeping Puppet

_I hope this site is finally back to "normal" working order. I had to delay posting this part for three days because I couldn't access the upload area._

SpikePuppet 3/? 

Immensely relieved to be out of the range of Dawn's grabby hands, Spike comfortably rode in Buffy's arms up a flight of stairs and a few feet down a hallway, where she opened a door on the right, stepped inside a small room, and set him down in the middle of a bed. She looked like she wanted to linger, but then Dawn's voice came from downstairs. 

"Buffy, I think supper's burning!" 

"Oh, crap!" Buffy snatched up a notebook from her dresser and sprinted out of the room. 

For the moment, Spike played it safe and remained where he had been placed. It made sense that Dawn and Buffy would be eating right about now. If he remembered correctly, Rome time was about nine hours ahead of Los Angeles, so it should be early evening here. With some luck, Buffy wouldn't come back upstairs for a while. Her absence gave him a neat window of opportunity to explore his surroundings. Some might call it snooping, but exploring was a more accurate term. It was his responsibility to make sure Buffy was getting along all right. 

Spike gazed around the room and saw that he was the closest thing to a stuffed animal Buffy possessed; even her favorite, Mr. Gordo, was absent. The demolition of Sunnydale must have taken out virtually all of her personal items. He did see the usual complement of weapons, an Italian dictionary and language tapes, some scattered items of clothing, a few demon texts, and other miscellany, but none of those items told him anything important. He'd come here so he could find out how Buffy and Dawn were doing. This was his big chance to find out. If doing so meant digging around a bit, getting into Buffy's personal things, he would just have to do it. 

Still getting used to his new limbs, which he hadn't been able to use much since packing himself into the box, Spike slid over to the side of the bed and lowered himself to the floor. Where to hunt first? He didn't see a lot of possibilities in the cramped room, which held little furniture. Buffy's dresser seemed like his best bet. He looked up at it. A few photos were taped to the mirror: Xander, with a pyramid in the background; Willow and Tara sitting together; several of the Potentials smiling into the camera. Nice, but they didn't provide the information he wanted. What he needed was to look inside the dresser. 

Thick puppet fingers tugged at the bottom drawer and dragged it open. It held odds and ends of clothing. With a sigh of annoyance, Spike shoved it closed, reached for the next drawer, and again had no luck. He unsuccessfully continued until only the top drawer remained. This one posed something of a challenge; it was beyond the reach of Spike's shrunken puppet body. 

He stared up at it. The more he looked, the more he had to know what it held. Despite the fact that every other drawer had contained nothing of especial interest, he couldn't rest until he had seen the interior of this one. But Spike was determined to think this problem through. He'd done enough leaping without looking lately. He carefully considered and then lit upon the obvious solution: If he wasn't tall enough, he had to elevate himself. To elevate himself, he had to stand on something. The wooden chair in the corner was perfect. 

Pleased with himself for taking the time to find a reasonable answer, Spike trotted over, grabbed the chair, and toted it back to the dresser. He was right; it worked perfectly. He was easily able to pull open the final drawer. 

At first glance, though, it looked like he'd wasted his time. Now, under most circumstances, Spike would not have been disappointed to find himself face to face with Buffy's underwear drawer, but today was not a typical day. Today he needed to find something helpful. He was about to admit defeat and jump back down to the floor when a thought struck him. Buffy wouldn't just leave the sort of item he was looking for lying out in the open. No, it would be hidden. A thorough search was required. 

Felt hands were not the best suited for covert action, yet Spike managed. He sifted through every item in the drawer, feeling right to the back, and finally his efforts were rewarded. In the far corner was a thick, dark book with the word "Diary" imprinted upon the front. 

In that moment, Spike's instinct for self-preservation deserted him. He didn't even stop to consider what would probably happen if Buffy ever found out he'd so blatantly invaded her privacy. All he knew was that he had to read the book--had to find out what Buffy had written, possibly about him. He firmly grasped it in one hand and shut the drawer with the other. After all, Buffy could return upstairs at any moment. The last thing he needed was for her to see him walking around. 

Quickly and quietly, Spike set about replacing every item he had moved except, of course, for the diary. That alone, he carried back to the bed with him. He would read it while Buffy was downstairs. The second he heard her footsteps coming up the stairs again, he would shove the book under the bed, with Buffy none the wiser, and replace it in the dresser once the appropriate opportunity presented itself. 

Trembling with anticipation, Spike curled up on the pillow and tried to flick open the diary to the first page. It didn't quite work out; he couldn't maneuver his fingers as well as he was accustomed to doing, so it took a good few seconds to get to the page he thought he wanted. Then it turned out that the page for January 1, 2003 was blank. 

Spike attempted to growl in frustration (the noise came out sounding more like a muffled sniff) as he realized that Buffy's old diary must have gone down with the rest of Sunnydale, and she hadn't bought this replacement until at least May of that year. Naturally she wouldn't have been writing in it as early as January. Annoyed at his own stupidity, he flicked ahead several months in the book he now saw was a two-year diary. With some effort, he ended up on the first page with writing on it: June 1, 2003. The entry began, "We held Spike and Anya's memorial service today." 

Spike read eagerly, soaking up the details of how he and Anya had been memorialized, how Buffy and the others had traveled across the country fighting evil, how they had eventually decided to split up and go off in their own directions. Page after page flew by, and Spike was pleased to find his name mentioned on a number of them. Buffy hadn't forgotten about him at all. She'd even felt guilty over his death, and regretful about some of their last moments together. 

He had just started the Jan. 4, 2004 entry when a noise outside the room distracted him. Spike's head flew up and he panicked. He hadn't kept track of the time at all. Ages must have passed since he'd started reading. Frantically, he hurtled the top half of his body over the side of the bed, shoved the diary underneath, and hauled himself back up, just before Buffy said goodnight to Dawn and entered the room. 

It was a narrow escape. Spike forced himself to remain motionless as Buffy moved around, preparing for bed. He found himself wishing he had eyelids so the act would be easier to pull off. Surely if he could close his eyes, he would look less suspicious and also encounter less temptation. Just as he thought this, however, Buffy began undressing. Eyelids or no, nothing could have torn Spike's wide puppet gaze away from his first sight of naked Buffy in longer than he cared to remember. It was a good thing she didn't think to look at him and spot his behavior,. which he was sure was nothing resembling puppet-like. 

Fortunately for his continued existence, Buffy quickly donned a nightgown and moved to the door to switch off the light. Next she lowered herself onto the bed, right next to Spike, and tugged the (unresisting) puppet next to her. It was then that Spike discovered what seemed likely to be the fatal flaw in his hastily conceived plan. He couldn't move; couldn't even squirm a little into a more comfortable position. He was trapped, plastered next to Buffy. He'd forgotten that grabbiness was a characteristic she shared with Dawn. Normally he wouldn't have minded at all, but he wasn't exactly in a position to reciprocate. Well, he *could*, but the thought of Buffy's likely response should she catch her stuffed bedmate moving was enough to hold him still. He didn't want to die again. This time he had the uneasy feeling he wouldn't be coming back if he did. Still, he didn't know how he would make it through another minute next to her, let alone an entire night. He'd be bound to squirm and give himself away. It just wasn't possible to lie practically on top of Buffy and not react. 

Once again, Spike forced himself to relax and think up a solution. He wouldn't have to remain in this position all night, he told himself. All he had to do was wait until Buffy fell soundly asleep and then gently extricate himself from her clasp. It couldn't be that hard. 

So he waited. After a few minutes, Buffy's breathing evened out. After another few, Spike was sure she had drifted off. He'd give it a little longer just to be safe, he decided... 

Spike was in a warm, comfortable place. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake up, but a persistent noise wouldn't allow him to sleep. He groaned and buried his head under the pillow in an attempt to block it out. 

It didn't work; the noise resumed. This time, Spike made out words. "Dawn! Time to get up!" Buffy was yelling from nearby. 

If it was time for Dawn to be up, then he should, too, Spike hazily reasoned. He sat up, stretched, rolled over, and promptly fell off the bed with a thunk to lie stunned in a tangle of stiff puppet limbs and blanket. 

As if from a great distance, he heard Buffy walk back into the room. "What happened here?" came her puzzled voice before she shook the blankets, plucked Spike out from the middle of them, and carefully set him back on the bed. 

All the events of the previous day came rushing back to Spike then: his puppethood, his presence in Rome, and the fact that Buffy was right there in the room with him. For a minute he had thought he was back in Sunnydale, living in Buffy's basement and battling the First Evil. Last night he'd obviously managed to fall asleep with his eyes wide open, which seemed a little weird until one realized that it must be a puppet thing, kind of like how horses were able to sleep standing up. Only Spike had overslept, missed watching Buffy getting dressed, become confused and fallen off the bed, and almost given himself away. He was wasting his big chance, he thought with disgust. Yet he had today to make up for all of his mistakes so far. He'd turn everything around; he was sure of it. 

He quietly watched as Buffy collected a packed bag and walked out of the room. In the hallway, she stopped to talk to Dawn. 

"Come down for breakfast as soon as you get dressed. I'll walk you to school when I go to work." 

"Yeah, right," Dawn mumbled in response. 

One set of footsteps indicated Buffy moving downstairs. Spike settled back and thought. He'd already known Dawn was attending school, but where was Buffy working? he wondered. Maybe he could figure that out once he had the house to himself. 

He patiently waited for a half hour, when the front door slammed shut behind two pairs of feet. Spike sat up, stretched again, and felt his stomach clench with hunger. He didn't feel any desire for blood, though. Instead he had this strange craving for... milk and cookies? 

end part 3 


	4. Puppet Abuse

Assured that Dawn and Buffy had left the house, Spike slid out of bed and proceeded downstairs to hunt for the kitchen. He had to have cookies, and he had to have them now. 

The kitchen was easy enough to find, at the back of the house. Spike even quickly spotted a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies on top of the refrigerator. He followed his routine of standing on a chair to retrieve them and also to get a glass. The milk was easier to grab, since he could reach the top shelf of the refrigerator without much trouble. Pouring the milk was the trickiest part of his job, but by clutching the carton with both hands, Spike was able to slowly fill his glass without spilling a drop. 

It was surprising how much of an appetite he'd worked up. Enjoying every bite, Spike gorged himself on cookies, finished off three servings of milk, then rinsed out his glass, returned the remaining cookies to the top of the fridge, and prepared to explore the rest of the house. Dawn should be in school for hours, but he didn't know how long Buffy would be at work, or even what sort of work she was doing. He was going to do his best to find out now. 

The living room seemed the most likely place to begin his hunt, so Spike trotted in that direction. He was still in the downstairs hallway, though, when he saw it--the front door, swinging open. Someone was entering the house. If it was Buffy and she didn't find him in her room where she had left him, the shit would hit the fan. He turned tail and ran as fast as his short legs would carry him, hitting the bottom of the staircase and scrambling up the steps on all fours like a rat, before he darted into Buffy's room, made a great leap onto the bed, and froze. 

The front door closed, and footsteps started up the stairs. Spike waited, wondering who could be there. The steps came to the doorway of Buffy's bedroom and halted. Spike peeked out of the corner of his eye and mentally sighed with relief. It was Dawn. 

She proceeded a few steps into the room and picked him up. "Buffy doesn't deserve to have you all to herself." It took Spike a moment to realize that she was talking about the puppet--him. Still holding Spike, Dawn jogged down the stairs and into the living room, where she set him on the couch and curled up next to him. "Who needs school anyway?" Dawn threw her backpack onto the floor and picked up the TV remote control. 

Of all the days for Dawn to skip out, Spike grumbled to himself. Seeing that he didn't have much choice, though, he remained beside her as she turned on the TV and flicked past channel after channel, occasionally stopping here and there to watch an Italian game show or a news program. 

Thoroughly bored, Spike was forced to stick it out for about two hours before Dawn got up and left the room. Naturally, he couldn't do the same no matter how badly he wanted to, but he did take the opportunity to stretch and shift position just a bit. A few minutes later, Dawn returned to the room, carrying a large bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate syrup. As she walked around the side of the couch, she stumbled over her backpack. The bowl flew out of her hands and landed right on Spike's head. 

He jumped, Dawn jumped, and the bowl slid to the floor with a sickening splat. Fortunately, Dawn was too busy panicking to realize that Spike had moved on his own rather than as a result of her clumsiness. She was more disturbed by the fact that her sister's gift was a huge mess because of her. "Oh, no, Buffy's gonna kill me!" 

'Not if I do it first,' Spike thought, somehow managing to hold still even as the cold ice cream and sticky syrup trickled down his head, across his face, and onto his duster. 

He restrained himself from flashing his fangs while Dawn dashed into the kitchen with him, wet a dishcloth at the sink, and frantically scrubbed at the worst of the damage. "Come out, come out!" she urged aloud. 

Spike could just feel it getting worse. The chocolate syrup was soaking into his face and Dawn's rough efforts were not improving his appearance. She must have noticed this problem too, because after several minutes she quit. Spike caught a glimpse of his distorted reflection on the side of the toaster and suppressed a growl of fury. Half of his face was brown. And then he saw that Dawn had suddenly brightened, like an idea had just occurred to her. 

Spike really didn't like the look of the expression. A moment later, he found out why. 

Dawn dropped the soiled washcloth and grabbed Spike again, toting him into a room set just off the kitchen. The laundry room. Realization hit Spike with the force of a tank as Dawn started the washing machine and her hand hovered over the array of products on the shelf. 

'Not the bleach! Not the bleach!' Spike's inner voice screamed. 

As if Dawn had heard him, she went for the detergent instead. Still, for a few seconds, Spike seriously considered making a run for it. After all, he sure as hell hadn't signed up for any of this crap. Then again, he'd already come so far and he didn't want to blow his cover. If he could just stick it out for another day, he'd be all right. He thought. 

Before he could change his mind, Dawn hefted him and unceremoniously crammed him inside the washing machine. As the lid clanged shut, Spike found himself wrapped around the agitator with his arms pinned to his sides in the small, pitch-black space. Claustrophobia struck with a vengeance. He promptly forgot his resolution to stick it out and fought to escape, trying to twist around and shove open the lid. Too late. He couldn't find his way and the machine began to spin, whipping him around and hammering his head against the metal sides. 

The torture felt like it lasted forever. At first Spike tried to battle back but the constant battering sapped his energy reserves and he eventually bowed to the inevitable, conserving the little strength he had left. When at long last the machine shuddered and ceased all movement, Spike lay, drained and exhausted. 

Dawn hadn't forgotten about him. Within a few minutes, she flipped up the lid and pulled Spike out. He was soaked and miserable, and his nose and ears had come off during the spin cycle. Dawn didn't bother to reattach them, and Spike vaguely wondered why. But, he thought, at least his ordeal was over. 

He was wrong. It turned out that Dawn hadn't replaced his nose and ears because she wasn't done with him yet. She turned to the dryer, adjusted the settings, and stuffed Spike and his loose parts into this new machine of horrors. 

It didn't seem quite as bad as the washing machine. The dryer did have the advantage of being roomier, with a corresponding reduction in bouncing and pummeling. This advantage, however, turned out to be offset by the fact that it took a saturated puppet body quite a long time to dry. Twice Dawn checked on Spike's status, frowned, slammed the door, and started the cycle again. The third time, she hauled him out, held him at arm's length, and nodded in satisfaction. "Good as new!" 

Spike wasn't so confident on that count. He felt as if he might have shrunk while in the dryer, and he spent the journey back to Buffy's room vowing revenge against Dawn and trying to figure out how best to exact it from his current position. 

Thankfully, it seemed Dawn had decided to quit while she was behind. She restored Spike's nose and ears before she returned him to Buffy's room. The second she retreated, Spike settled back, determined to get some much-needed rest. He felt like he had bruises on top of his bruises. 

He managed to fall into an uneasy nap that was interrupted by the closing of the front door and Buffy's voice calling, "Hey, Dawn, how was school today?" 

"It was okay. Nothing much happened." 

Spike repressed a snort. Oh, if only Buffy could know the truth. 

He heard her moving around downstairs, from living room to kitchen and back, before she came upstairs. Spike was ready and playing dead as Buffy entered the room. She glanced at him, set her bag down, and crossed to the dresser to open the top drawer. With a thrill of horror, Spike remembered that he'd forgotten to replace her diary. He couldn't do anything now except helplessly watch as Buffy tried, and failed, to find the book. Her frustration was obvious; she even went so far as to pull out the drawer and dump the contents onto the floor so she could more easily sift through them. 

Again not finding the diary, Buffy turned her head and looked directly at Spike. Her eyes narrowed. She continued to stare. 

Spike discovered that he did not like this look at all. It was if Buffy had become suspicious of him. 

She stood up. Spike lay so stiffly, he was sure he would develop a cramp. 

Buffy strode over to the bed, lifted him, and studied him from head to foot. "Something isn't right." 

Sure that she had caught on to the truth, Spike could only wait for the boom to fall. 

So he was taken off guard when Buffy set him back down and strode out of the room. "Dawn!" she yelled. "Get your butt over here!" 

The sisters met in the hallway. A very curious Spike had no problem hearing their entire conversation, and absolutely no desire not to. 

Buffy started it, speaking in a quiet but firm voice. "You know, it's bad enough that you ate half of my favorite cookies, and threw your school junk around the living room, and did something to my Spike puppet that I haven't quite figured out yet, but you had to go and do that, too, didn't you?" 

"Do what?" Dawn said defiantly. 

"You-read-my-diary," Buffy said, emphasizing every word. "And you didn't even put the sense to put it back when you were done." 

"I didn't touch it!" Dawn protested. 

"Sure," Buffy replied in a tone that decidedly said she was anything *but* positive. "Tell me another one. You are in so much trouble right now." 

Spike couldn't repress a sensation of intense satisfaction. Ordinarily he would have felt guilty about letting Dawn take the blame for his actions, but after what she'd done to him today, he thought she deserved whatever she got. 


	5. Trapped

_Wow. Where did the time go? I thought I had updated more recently. Well, this part isn't very long but at least it's something, and I will do my best to have the next part up soon. _

****** 

Buffy and Dawn eventually quieted down enough to allow Spike to drift off to sleep again. He was so wiped out after his difficult day with Dawn that he didn't think he could have stayed awake if he tried. Not surprisingly, his dreams were unpleasant. Spike wasn't sure which one was worse; the one where he was stuck in a neverending spin cycle, or the one where Dawn crammed him inside the oven and cranked up the heat. 

Some hours later, he awoke again when gentle hands picked him up. It was Buffy, who moved him downstairs to the sofa. She pointedly sat right beside him, while Dawn was banished to a large armchair. The tension between the sisters had lessened considerably. It seemed that it was a special movie night and they weren't going to skip their routine just because Dawn had misbehaved. Buffy had brought home an English-language rental version of "Gladiator" and soon she and her sister were absorbed in the film. Spike was somewhat less interested, besides still being tired. After the first 15 minutes, he fell into a doze that lasted until the doorbell rang. 

Dawn hit the stop button on the remote control and checked her watch. "It's pretty late for someone to be coming over. Maybe it's one of your students, Buffy?" 

'Students?' thought Spike. Had Buffy become some sort of teacher, or perhaps gone back to being a guidance counselor? 

He waited to find out as Buffy went to the door. From where he sat, his view was blocked, but he clearly heard her greeting. "Angel! What are you doing here?" 

'Angel?' Spike almost shot out of his skin at the realization that his grandsire was darkening Buffy's doorstep. 

Dawn scampered over to the door to look. "It really *is* you!" 

Alone on the couch, Spike was thinking frantically and blaming himself for being caught in this awkward situation. He'd known from the beginning that Angel could easily uncover his movements and determine his whereabouts by watching the Wolfram & Hart security tapes, but he hadn't counted on it happening this soon. It had, though, and now Angel was on the verge of ruining all of his plans. Should he run for it while he had the chance? If he jumped out the window and fled, maybe Buffy wouldn't be able to track him down and kill him. Of course, that outcome was highly doubtful. With his short legs, he couldn't build up to any sort of speed. By the time he got two houses away, Buffy would be upon him. She would also be that much angrier because of having to chase him down. On the other hand, if he stayed where he was and threw himself on her mercy, she might spare him. Maybe. 

Right, then, Spike decided, he wasn't going to run. He was going to stick it out and take whatever was coming to him. He just hoped he was choosing the best option. Having made up his mind, he tuned back in to the conversation taking place at the front door. 

"We need to talk Buffy," Angel was saying. "This is serious." 

"What is it?" Buffy asked. 

"Do I have an invitation inside?" Angel pressed. "Look, I know you don't like the fact that I'm working at Wolfram & Hart now. Andrew said as much. But I haven't turned evil and I need to tell you something important." 

After a pause, Buffy said, "All right. Come in, Angel." 

"Thank you." He stepped inside. The next thing Spike heard was Angel saying, "Where is he?" 

"Who?" came Dawn's confused voice. 

Angel moved forward into the living room, spotted Spike on the couch, and opened his mouth. Then he closed it. It must have struck him that Spike was unnaturally still. 

"Angel, why are you here?" Buffy said with an edge of impatience to her tone. 

Angel ignored her. He was totally focused on Spike as he walked toward the sofa. 

"Look what Buffy got as a gift," Dawn chimed in. "Isn't he adorable?" 

"I can think of another word for it." Angel paced a little closer. 

Spike continued to hold his position, praying Angel would take the hint and not give him away. He didn't want to be found out, and it was in Angel's best interests to help him maintain his cover. 

"Angel," Buffy said warningly. 

"What? Oh, yeah." He turned so he was looking at her but able to keep the puppet in his range of vision. "Why I came here. I, um, I'm afraid I have bad news. About Cordelia. She never came out of her coma and she died." 

Spike had to hand it to Angel; he'd come up with a decent cover story on the spur of the moment. After all, it was the truth, and Dawn and Buffy didn't know--yet, anyway--that Cordelia had actually been dead for weeks. He watched as they awkwardly hugged Angel and offered words of sympathy. 

"So, you came all the way over here to tell us in person," Buffy mused. "Obviously you flew?" 

Angel nodded. "My first time on a plane. It was a special high-speed jet with protective glass in all the windows so I was perfectly safe." 

"You and Cordy got pretty close while you were working together, huh?" Dawn probed. 

"Yeah," Angel said shortly, paying more attention to Spike than to the conversation. 

"Can we get you anything?" Buffy asked. "Um, there's no blood in the house, but maybe..." 

"Coffee. Coffee would be great." Buffy looked puzzled by this particular request but shrugged and headed for the kitchen. Dawn did not. Angel turned to her. "Dawn, can you get me a sandwich? Any kind. Take your time." 

"Oh. Sure." 

As she followed Buffy away, Spike could tell from the expression on her face that she was wondering when Angel had started eating sandwiches, or pretty much any human food at all. He didn't have much time to analyze Dawn's likely thoughts, though, as Angel advanced upon him. 

He stopped in front of Spike, towering over him. "Hello, Spike. You're going to regret the day you came here." 

TBC 


	6. Spike vs Angel

Angel lunged for him, but Spike had been expecting such a move and he leaped out of range. He and Angel glared at each other from opposite ends of the couch. 

"Spike, what the hell do you think you're doing here?" Angel snarled. "This is ridiculous. What was going through your mind? Getting yourself transformed into a puppet and mailing yourself to Buffy, of all the idiotic things to do! Hasn't she been through enough already without you pulling this crap?" 

"It's none of your business," Spike retorted in a harsh whisper, keenly aware that he needed to keep Buffy and Dawn from hearing. 

"You're tricking them. They obviously don't know the truth about you." 

"I just wanted to see how they were doing," Spike said honestly. "They don't need to know I'm back." 

Angel edged closer. "I could tell them." 

"You won't, though," Spike guessed. "You want me to leave here with Buffy never knowing." 

"You don't know that," Angel retorted, eyes narrowed. 

"Yeah, I do." Spike was sure he was right; he could feel it. "If you wanted Buffy to know the truth about me, you'd have told her already. Fact is, you're afraid Buffy'll pick me over you if she finds out I'm alive--well, undead again." 

Angel scowled. "She wouldn't. You don't think so either, because if you did, you wouldn't be hiding your identity from her." 

Sensing vulnerability, Spike pressed his advantage. "You want to take that chance? On top of that, you know Buffy'll be pissed at you for hiding the fact that I've been back for months. I'll make sure you come out of this situation looking as bad as I do. Worse, even. You know I can do it." P "Fine. I have a solution to this whole mess. You come back to Los Angeles with me, now." With that, Angel grabbed for Spike again. 

Angel had the advantages of surprise, sheer physical size, and more rest (not having gone through a washing machine and a dryer earlier in the day). But Spike had reached the end of his rope. The day had already been long and trying enough and now here was Angel, marching in acting like he owned the place and Spike was his servant. Instinctively, Spike vamped out. He felt his fangs descend into his mouth and as Angel went for him, he pounced and sank his sharp teeth deep into the outstretched arm. Angel yelped in pain and lashed out, repeatedly whacking Spike against the coffee table. Spike grimly held on like a bulldog, teeth grinding harder as Angel's blood flowed into his mouth. Again and again Angel smashed him into the wood, but Spike refused to let go. 

"Angel?" came Buffy's voice from the direction of the kitchen. "Are you all right?" 

Angel immediately halted his attempts to batter Spike loose. He and Spike both froze, Spike still dangling from Angel's arm with his fangs firmly lodged in the tender flesh. "I'm fine, Buffy," Angel called back, wincing. "I just knocked something over." 

"Okay," she yelled back. "I'll have your coffee ready in just a minute." 

Not wanting to get caught in such a vulnerable position in case Buffy came back in less than the promised minute, Spike unclamped his jaws and dropped to the floor; Angel rubbed his arm and scowled. Cautiously, Spike returned to his "normal" face as he jumped back onto the couch where Buffy had left him. He wasn't feeling too great himself after this latest beating but he refused to show signs of weakness in front of Angel. "You might as well leave now 'cause I'm not going with you," he said firmly. 

"I'm not going without you," Angel replied. 

"Looks like we have a standoff, then," Spike pointed out. Which actually was a significant problem. Angel didn't want to budge, and neither did Spike. However, if both remained unwavering, Buffy would definitely discover the truth, and Spike didn't want to be around when she did. It looked like a compromise was a necessary evil. "Make you a deal," Spike offered. "I won't go this minute. Can't. But you give me one more day here and then I'll leave quietly. I just need a little more time." 

Angel hesitated; Spike could see him weighing the pros and cons of the deal and hunting for any loopholes. Finally Angel nodded. "Fine. Tomorrow night, at sunset, be outside this house ready to leave. I'll send someone to pick you up." 

Spike quickly considered. It seemed like a pretty fair offer. After all, he figured it was about time for him to go anyway. How much longer could he maintain his ruse? He'd already spent almost as much as time in Rome as he'd initially planned. The only tricky part of the matter would be sneaking away from the house without being spotted, but if he was cautious he could manage it. Buffy would probably blame Dawn for her puppet's absence. Dawn would, of course, know of her own innocence but she wouldn't be able to guess the truth. The mystery of the puppet would never be solved. It was all for the best. 

"Tomorrow, sunset," he agreed. 

Footsteps approached from the kitchen, effectively stopping future communications between the rivals. Spike returned to puppet guise as Dawn and Buffy returned with Angel's sandwich and coffee. The fact that he would soon be leaving weighed heavily on his mind, and he was able to derive only mild enjoyment from the sight of Angel struggling to consume the food and drink he hadn't wanted in the first place. Spike was only too aware that he might never see Buffy or Dawn again after tomorrow afternoon. 

TBC 


	7. Exposed

Spike woke with a start, disoriented. It took him a moment to place his surroundings, and then all the events of the previous day came flooding back into his brain. After Angel had left last night, Buffy and Dawn had stayed up late reminiscing about Cordelia. The conversation hadn't particularly interested Spike, plus the unpleasant encounter with Angel had sapped most of his remaining strength, so he had fallen asleep sometime in the early hours of the morning. 

Looking around now, he thought it must still be pretty early. He was alone in Buffy's bed, but he could hear movements downstairs. Buffy, Dawn, or both had to be home. 

Then a terrible thought struck Spike. What if Dawn had skipped out of school again and she was alone downstairs? What if she came after Spike again? He couldn't take another day of punishment like the previous one. Besides, if Dawn stayed home, he would lose his last chance to dig around, and he still hadn't even managed to finish reading Buffy's diary. 

He crept to the open doorway and listened intently, prepared to jump out the window if it turned out Dawn was indeed present. Then, to his intense relief, Spike heard the telephone ring downstairs and Buffy's voice answer it. He was safe as long as she remained. 

The phone conversation was brief. Buffy was finished with it almost before Spike had time to realize she had sounded angry and had apparently received disturbing news. As it turned out, he wasn't left in suspense long as to the nature of the problem. 

"Dawn!" Buffy yelled in a no-nonsense tone. 

Spike listened to the dragging footsteps of Dawn going to face Buffy, who immediately confronted her sister. "I just got a call from your school. You forgot that even though I don't know much Italian, the secretary there speaks really good English. She wanted to know if you were feeling better after being out sick yesterday, and if you'd be showing up today." There was a pause, during which Dawn said nothing. Buffy went on, "I walked you to school yesterday. I watched while you went in the door. And the minute I left, you must have turned around and walked right back out and come back here. I'm very disappointed in you, Dawn." 

"You skipped high school all the time!" Dawn protested. 

"Yeah, but usually because I was busy saving the world. Not because I was being a brat. There's a difference, and I thought you knew that by now. I was going to let you off easy for reading my diary and messing up the living room and everything else, but not now. We'll talk about your punishment when I get home from work today." 

Again, silence from Dawn. Spike could picture the mulish expression on her face, though. He just hoped she wouldn't rebel by attempting to sneak home today, too. 

The same thought must have occurred to Buffy. Spike barely had time to return to his former position on the bed before she jogged up the stairs and into the room. To his surprise, she picked him up and returned to the living room, where Dawn waited. 

Holding the puppet in a possessive grip, Buffy eyed her sister. "Obviously I can't trust you around my stuff so I won't leave it where you can find it. The puppet is coming to work with me today. Don't bother to snoop around the house for him when you get home from school. He'll be safe, with me." 

They proceeded to Dawn's school in frosty silence. When they arrived, Dawn stalked inside without a backward glance. 

"Fine, be that way," Buffy muttered. She readjusted her grip on Spike and her bag, and resumed walking. 

After another five minutes, she stopped in front of a large building, opened the door, and went inside. Spike looked around curiously. They were inside a gymnasium. He saw several large rooms with mats spread across the floors, as well as what looked like a dance studio. Buffy headed toward the center room, greeting a few people who responded in Italian-accented English. 

"Buffy, you're late," called a tall, thin woman. 

"Sorry, Giulia," Buffy called back. "Had a little trouble with my sister. I'll hurry up." 

She quickened her pace and entered the room, where about a dozen men and women dressed in gym clothes were waiting. "Hey, everyone, just give me a minute." Not wasting any time, Buffy crossed the room, placed Spike atop an empty chair in the corner, and tucked her bag underneath. "Good enough," she decided before turning and going over to join the group. "Okay, so last time I demonstrated a couple new moves and asked you to practice them for today. First we're going to review...." 

Buffy had become a self-defense teacher, Spike realized. As a job, it was a natural fit for her. She skillfully led several classes of varying ability levels, showing them exactly which maneuvers they needed to use and making sure every member could perform each one. Spike was so absorbed in watching her that when a break came for lunch, he was surprised so much time had passed. 

He longingly looked on as Buffy left the room to have a meal. He was feeling pretty hungry himself, not having eaten in more than 24 hours. Even a sip of milk or just one cookie would be welcome. Not that he had a chance to even try to grab something to snack on. Too many people were around. 

After what seemed like forever, Buffy returned from her break and set about working with a new group of students. This one was followed by another, and another. Finally, though, came a time when one class left and no one else entered afterwards. Buffy's workday was over. 

Spike thought about what he had observed that day. He hadn't spent it as he had planned, but it hadn't been wasted. One thing was clear: Buffy was doing fine without him in her life. He knew he should be glad, but he couldn't help feeling a little hurt as well. Not that his bruised feelings mattered at this point. He could slink back to Los Angeles now. He had seen all he needed to. 

Soon Buffy came over to collect him and her bag. All the way back to her house, Spike concentrated on figuring out the best way to sneak out of her life. It would be dusk in half an hour, so it wasn't like he had much time to make his move. And if he was late, Angel might come looking for him. That would definitely lead to a scene Spike wanted to avoid. 

He was still considering and rejecting ideas for escape when Buffy turned onto her street. Spike looked up, studying the house he'd never gotten a good look at before. It was a small, white, two-story building with a small yard surrounded by tall hedges. It looked, for lack of a better word, nice. 

Buffy cut across the lawn toward the front door, and then it happened. A large, dark shape came seemingly from out of nowhere and bulled into her, knocking her over. Buffy's bag and Spike both went flying, landing on the other side of the yard. Stunned, Spike shook his head and looked up. Two ugly gray demons with curved horns were snarling at Buffy. She had regained her feet and looked to be more than a match for the creatures, though, as she pummeled one and kicked the other in rapid succession. 

Spike hesitated. This was his chance to escape and meet whoever was assigned to pick him up. He was sure Buffy could handle the demons; she had confronted much worse countless times. He would never have another opportunity this good. But before he could make himself sneak away, a complication occurred. 

The front door flew open and Dawn bolted outside. "Buffy! Look out!" 

She was warning Buffy of a third demon that had joined the fray. This one, however, shied away from Buffy and set its sights on Dawn, who was easier prey. With a roar, it leaped on her. Buffy, her back turned, didn't see that the demon was on the verge of tearing out her sister's heart. 

Spike did, though. Without a second thought, he jumped up, pumped his stubby legs as fast as he could, and sailed toward the third demon. With a great leap, he propelled himself onto its back, grabbed its neck, and twisted. The dead body collapsed under him and Spike fell to the side, rolling over in time to see Buffy use a tree branch to finish off the second of her opponents. 

He had no time to enjoy the sight. An ear-piercing scream sounded beside him, and Spike whipped his head around to see Dawn pointing a trembling finger right at him. "Buffy, your puppet's alive!" 

TBC 


	8. Death to the Puppet

"Your puppet's alive!" Dawn screamed. 

Buffy whirled on him. Spike had no chance to play dead, no time to come up with an alternate plan. Buffy had seen him--the puppet--clearly alive and moving. She could have no doubt about it. 

Therefore, he wasn't exactly surprised when she charged him with the tree branch upraised. 

"Buffy, stop!" he yelled. 

Instead of halting, she whacked him over the head with the branch. She hit just as hard as he remembered. Spike rocked under the blow, wishing just for once, Buffy would pull her punches with him. 

Like she needed any encouragement, Dawn began to cheer from the sidelines. "Get it, Buffy! Kill it!" 

As another blow rained down upon him, Spike braced himself and cried, "Stop! It's me, Spike!" 

If it was possible, Buffy began to whale upon him with even more force. "You--little--lying--bastard! Defiling Spike's memory!" 

Spike hadn't counted on her not believing him, and he knew he couldn't stand up against the barrage much longer. Hunger, combined with a physically exhausting last few days, had taken a severe toll on him. Sooner or later, Buffy would finish him off. Probably sooner. 

And then he saw an opening, as Buffy paused to rest. If he attacked now, he stood a good chance of disarming her and possibly gaining the advantage. But he didn't want to hurt Buffy, and hurting her would definitely be necessary, considering her current state of mindless fury. He hesitated, torn between two unpleasant options. That hesitation proved to be his undoing. 

Buffy drew back the branch and smashed it against him. 

Spike's world went black. 

***** 

When he woke up, he was in Buffy's living room, bound to a chair, with his arms roped behind his back and his legs secured. He tested his bonds and quickly realized that escape was not a viable option. Buffy had used enough rope to restrain a bull elephant, let alone an injured, exhausted little puppet. He would just have to sit up and take his punishment. Actually, Spike was a bit surprised to still be "alive." Buffy had been so pissed, she'd probably seriously considered simply finishing him off while he was unconscious. The fact that she hadn't didn't particularly encourage him. 

As for the length of time he'd been out, Spike had little idea. He was totally disoriented yet again, and every inch of him felt sore. Stuffing poked out of a tear in his right arm, while his duster was muddy and rumpled. He could only imagine how pathetic he must look to observers, though he didn't delude himself by thinking that would win him any points with Buffy at the moment. 

Speaking of Buffy, where was she? Spike held himself perfectly still and listened hard. Sure enough, he heard Buffy and Dawn's voices coming from the kitchen. 

"So, I'm guessing Faith didn't send you that gift package, then," Dawn said. 

"I'd love to know who did," Buffy replied. "They wouldn't be long for this world once I found out." 

"You have a lot of enemies. Whoever it was knew your weak point." 

"Yeah, how stupid was I?" Buffy agreed. "When I opened the box and saw that puppet, all I could think about was Spike--not the possibility that a gift sent with no return address and no card might not be a gift after all." 

"What are you going to do with it?" Dawn asked. 

A pause. Then: "Kill it. After I make it talk." 

Spike gulped. Things were not looking good for him right now. Of course, Buffy didn't know his true identity yet, but even when she learned it, she might easily still be inclined to do him serious injury. Why the hell had he come here in the first place? In retrospect, it seemed like one of the dumbest decisions of his life, and he had a lot to choose from. 

Spike sighed and shifted, attempting to find a less constricting position. From the kitchen he heard the clinking of metal and the sound of a drawer sliding shut before Buffy continued, "Let's go wake it up and get its story." 

A few seconds later, she and Dawn stepped into the living room. Both were clenching long, sharp knives that they looked more than prepared to use. Spike didn't even pretend to play dead; he was trapped and he knew it. 

"So, you're awake," Buffy addressed him with a glare. "Do you want to talk, or do I have to hurt you first?" 

"I'll talk," Spike said quickly. 

"I'm not sure whether I'm happy or disappointed." Buffy settled down on the chair in front of him, with Dawn a safe distance away on the couch. "Let's start with the basics: Who sent you here, and what's your agenda?" 

"Listen to me, Buffy," Spike said in his most sincere tone. "It's me--Spike." 

Her fingers tightened around the knife handle. "Wrong answer. Spike has been dead since last May, and he wasn't a puppet before that." 

"I got transformed into a puppet," Spike explained. 

"No, you're just an evil doll," Dawn retorted. "We know all about them. We saw Chucky in the 'Child's Play' movies, plus those evil dolls on 'Passions.'" 

"And the one in that really crappy 'X-Files' episodes Stephen King wrote," Buffy concluded. "So don't feed us any more stupid lies. You have evil written all over you." 

There was a time when such a comment would have made Spike glow with pride. That time was long past. "I'm not evil," he protested. "I saved Dawn from that demon tonight." 

Buffy glanced at her sister. Dawn shrugged. "Well, it *was* dead, but I didn't see how it happened. I was down on the ground. Besides, I think the puppet was working with the demons. He probably came here to case the house and prepare for the attack ahead of time. Ick!" She shivered. "I bet that thing was creeping around at night, spying on us and touching all our stuff." 

Buffy eyed the puppet with mounting dislike. "I can't believe I let you sleep in my bed." 

Spike winced but nevertheless saw an opening for his next defensive stand. "I've been in this house almost three days. Could've killed you already if I'd wanted to." 

"Which means you have another motive you haven't confessed yet," said Buffy, fingering her knife. "Where should I start cutting to make you talk?" 

"I can prove I'm Spike. Call Angel--ask him about being turned into a puppet. It happened to him, too." 

"Angel?" Buffy tensed. "He was here last night, and I'm beginning to think his appearance wasn't any coincidence." 

"His visit was totally weird," Dawn said with a frown. "He'd never been on a plane before and he came here all of a sudden with a strange excuse. Buffy, do you think *he* might be behind all this?" 

"He *does* work for Wolfram & Hart now," Buffy mused. "We already suspected he'd gone evil again." 

"If you won't believe Angel, ask one of the others," Spike suggested. "Ask Wesley, Fred, or Gunn." 

"Wesley, Fred, and Gunn, who all also work at Wolfram & Hart?" Buffy shook her head. "They're tainted sources." She stood up and raised the knife over Spike. "Since you won't talk willingly, I guess I'll just have to make you, in the most painful way I can come up with." 

Spike frantically tried to think of a way out of this mess. Buffy didn't believe him when he told her the truth, and any credible lie would probably just make him look even worse than he already did. He had to convince her he truly was Spike. Except, how could he do that? Maybe... that was it! He had to tell her something only the two of them would know. And then it came to him. 

Buffy drove the knife toward Spike's chest just as he blurted, "Angel wears lifts!" 

TBC 


	9. The Puppet's Story

Buffy halted her threatening motion mid-lunge and stared at the puppet. "What did you just say?" 

"Angel wears lifts," Spike repeated, wishing he'd come out with something more sensible even as he nervously eyed the knife, the blade of which still hovered too close for comfort. 

"Huh?" Dawn looked from Spike to Buffy. "What are you talking about? Angel and lifts? You mean elevators?" 

Buffy continued to watch the puppet while she answered. "Shoe lifts. 'Angel wears lifts' was something Spike said to me the night before he died. We were alone at the time and I never mentioned it to anyone." 

"So how does this puppet know?" Dawn wondered. 

"I keep telling you, the puppet is Spike," said Spike. Then he shook his head in frustration. In his efforts to convince Dawn and Buffy, he was almost beginning to confuse himself. "I mean, *I'm* Spike." 

Buffy raised the knife again. Then she lowered it. "Spike died. Then again, I died and was brought back. And I sent Angel to hell and he returned. But neither of us came back as puppets." 

"First time I ever saw you was at the Bronze," Spike began, determined to convince them now that he had a little time to think out his plan of attack. "I said I'd kill you on Saturday, only I couldn't wait and I ruined your parent-teacher night instead and your mum hit me with an ax and I ran away. Then there was the time I made the deal with you 'bout taking Angelus down, and I said I liked this world because of Manchester United, and dog racing, and people walking around like Happy Meals with legs. And when I came back to get the love spell for Dru, I--" 

Dawn interrupted. "Buffy, he knows a lot about you. Maybe he really is Spike." 

Even Buffy was starting to look uncertain, though by no means convinced. "All right, so you do know a lot," she addressed Spike. "But how do *we* know you're not some demon that--I don't know, stole Spike's memories? Stranger things have happened to us." 

"I saved Dawn's life," Spike pointed out again. "Broke the neck of that demon outside. Why would I do that if I meant any harm?" 

Buffy looked at her sister. "Dawn, is this true?" 

"Well... like I said before, I didn't have a good view. All I knew was, that demon was on top of me and then it wasn't and then that puppet was there and it was alive and it scared me. I panicked. I think that's understandable. If he really is Spike, why wasn't he honest with us from the beginning? Why pretend to just be a plain old puppet? Only, now I'm starting to think he *has* to be Spike. Who else would do something so weird? This stunt has Spike written all over it." 

Swayed by Dawn's insistence, Buffy turned to Spike again and really looked at him with an openness Spike hadn't seen in until now. Then, almost before he knew what she was doing, she dropped the knife and enveloped him in a tight hug, crushing him between her body and the imprisoning chair. "Spike! You really *are* back!" 

Dawn added her efforts to the hug, putting even more pressure on Spike as she grabbed at him from the other side of the chair. Once they were convinced, they were whole-hearted about it. "Help!" Spike sputtered. 

"What? What's wrong?" Buffy released him and stepped back, anxiously studying his crushed form. 

"Untie me? Please?" Spike begged. 

Buffy grabbed the knife again, only this time she used it to slash the ropes binding Spike to the chair. With a sigh of relief, he stretched his sore limbs. At the same time, Dawn and Buffy began to hammer him with questions. 

"How did you come back to life?" 

"Why are you a puppet?" 

"How long have you been back?" 

"Who sent you here?" 

Spike jumped down from the chair and quickly braced himself against it when his unsteady legs wobbled and his head throbbed. "Can the questions wait a while? I think I might have a concussion." 

Buffy blushed. "Sorry. I guess I hit you pretty hard with that branch." 

"And the washing machine and dryer didn't help," Dawn added. "Sorry about that, too, Spike." 

"Washing machine and dryer?" Buffy repeated. "Do you have something to tell me, Dawn?" 

"Never mind about that," Dawn said quickly. "Let's help poor Spike. He doesn't look very good." 

She was right. Spike felt like he was about to use up the last reserves of his energy just standing there. 

"Here, lie down," Buffy urged, indicating the sofa. 

Spike looked at it. It was a long distance away--probably 10 whole feet. 

Dawn correctly interpreted his expression. "He needs help." She carefully picked Spike up and transported him to the couch while Buffy ran to get pillows and blankets. 

Once Spike was settled in, Buffy smoothed his covers and asked, "Are you going to be all right?" 

Spike nodded before he remembered how much his head hurt. "Fine. Just need some sleep." Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he closed them, grateful that he had survived this latest encounter. 

***** 

When he woke up, he wasn't in the living room anymore. He'd been moved upstairs, to Buffy's more comfortable bed. According to the clock on the bedside table, it was a little past 9 a.m. and it must be Saturday. 

Spike slowly sat up and realized that he felt much better than he had the night before. His head still ached slightly, but the pain didn't even approach the throbbing of the previous evening. And while the rest of his body held a lingering soreness, he didn't think he would collapse if he tried to move. 

Testing this theory, he shoved aside the blankets covering him and dropped to the floor. So far, so good. Methodically, he made his way into the hallway and down the stairs. 

Buffy met him at the bottom of the flight. "Spike! What are you doing, walking around by yourself? We leave you alone for two minutes and you try to escape?" 

"Wasn't trying to escape," Spike countered. "No point to it, now that you know who I am." 

"No more walking for you today," Buffy decided. She efficiently picked Spike and carried him into the kitchen, where Dawn was rooting around in the refrigerator. 

"Spike!" Dawn let the door swing shut on its own as she ran over to hug him again, more gently this time than last night. "How are you?" 

"Fine," he said, allowing Buffy to place him on a chair. "Better." 

"You want some breakfast?" Dawn asked. "Or do puppets eat?" 

"I like milk and cookies," Spike said without thinking. 

"Milk and *cookies*?" Dawn emphasized with a significant look at Buffy. 

All of their gazes went right to the depleted cookie bag on top of the refrigerator. Wordlessly, Buffy pulled it down and shook the remnants onto a plate for Spike while Dawn poured him a tall glass of milk. Seeing that he hadn't eaten in almost two days, he bolted down the food, grateful that the girls seemed willing to overlook his theft of the other cookies. After he finished, he looked up and saw that Dawn was staring at him. Again. 

"What?" Spike said defensively. 

"Well, your voice kind of sounds like Spike's, and you kind of look like him, only your nose is lopsided and your ears are the wrong shape and--" 

"Hey, what happened to me being cute and adorable?" Spike protested. 

"That was when we thought you were a real puppet," Dawn replied before she relented. "Oh, all right, you're still cute. But I think Buffy and I both preferred the old Spike." 

"Speaking of which..." Buffy took the chair next to Spike. "I phoned Giles and he said he never heard of a dusted vampire turning into a puppet before. Neither has Xander. And I wanted to ask Willow but I couldn't reach her yet." 

"Giles said your whole situation is completely bizarre," Dawn added. "I mean, you were killed on the Hellmouth and somehow brought back to life three days ago as a puppet, right?" 

"Not exactly," Spike hedged, beginning to realize there was no way he was going to emerge from this conversation looking good. "Was brought back as a ghost first." 

Buffy frowned. "A ghost puppet?" 

"No, a ghost vampire." 

"Ghost first, puppet second," Buffy clarified. "Do I have that right?" 

Spike nodded, hoping the inquisition would stop before the two asked exactly the questions he never wanted to answer. No such luck. 

"So how long were you a ghost?" Dawn pressed. 

"A while," Spike admitted. 

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "How long a while?" 

"A few mmm mmm," Spike mumbled. 

"A few months?" Buffy shouted. "*Months*? I want a date, and I want one now. How long have you been back, in any way, shape, or form?" 

Spike looked away. "Since 'bout a week after the Hellmouth blew up." 

"You've been back for nine months and you didn't bother to pick up the phone and let us know?" Dawn said. "Why not?" 

"Um, because I didn't think I could top my exit scene." The excuse sounded incredibly stupid even to Spike now that he was saying it to Buffy and Dawn's faces. It also wasn't exactly the truth, but he hoped they would accept it anyway instead of dragging the real reason out of him. 

"You didn't think you could top your exit scene?" Buffy echoed. "Oh, I don't know. I think you managed to come pretty close. That isn't a compliment, by the way." 

"Any chance you can think back to last night, when you were so happy I was back you didn't care how it happened?" Spike suggested. 

TBC 


	10. Discoveries

_Sorry about the delay on this story. I've had a lot of family stuff going on lately, none of it fun. I'll try to update much more quickly next time. _

* * *

Spike sat tensely while Dawn sewed up the tear in his arm. Buffy was lurking in the background, and he could tell she was dying to assail him with more incriminating questions. As soon as Dawn finished her job, Buffy was sure to pounce. Still, Spike figured, there was plenty of blame to go around, so he might as well deflect some of it away from him and onto a convenient target. 

"All done!" Dawn announced, stepping back and surveying her handiwork. 

Buffy opened her mouth. Spike beat her to the punch. "Dawn sent me through the washer and dryer," he informed her. "Three times through the dryer." 

The ploy worked; Buffy turned on her sister instead of on Spike. "You mentioned something about that earlier, Dawn. I think details would be good right about now." 

While Dawn stammered through an awkward explanation of the laundry incident, Spike tried to think of who else he could blame. Andrew and Angel both sprang to mind. With a little luck, he might be able to turn Buffy back to feeling sorry for him again, instead of wanting to kill him herself. 

Dawn wrapped up her story, and Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "You know that trouble I said you were in when you took my diary? It just tripled." 

"I didn't take your--" Dawn blurted before she glanced at Spike and relented. "Fine, I'm in trouble. What's my punishment?" 

"For starters, the laundry. Only without Spike in it this time. Get to work." 

Dawn stalked away, muttering about stolen diaries and evil puppets and lying vampires. Spike could only assume she hadn't told Buffy the truth about the diary theft because he looked too pathetic to blame. He didn't feel guilty for not owning up himself, though. Considering the fact that Dawn had been responsible for the washing-machine-and-dryer disaster, he thought they were about even now. 

With her sister out of the way, Buffy eyed Spike again. "I think our priority has to be getting you back to normal. How do we do that?" 

"I'm not exactly sure," Spike replied. Then he casually added, "Angel should know, though." 

As he had hoped, Buffy latched onto this comment. "Wait a minute. You said something about that before. About Angel knowing you're a puppet." 

Spike nodded. "And of course, he was one first. He'll probably come looking for me any minute. He wanted me to sneak away last night and go back to Los Angeles." 

"Angel's in on this scheme?" Buffy said loudly. "He sent you here?" 

"Well, no," Spike corrected. "I came here on my own. But Angel knew I was a puppet and he followed me once he found out where I'd gone." 

"So that's really why he showed up here," Buffy mused. "He told Dawn and me that lie about Cordelia dying as a cover story, and we actually felt sorry for him. I mean, I knew something was wrong with him if he's working at Wolfram & Hart, but I can't believe he sank that low." 

"It wasn't a lie," Spike acknowledged. "Cordelia really did die." 

"Oh." Buffy was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry about Cordelia. But that still doesn't let Angel off the hook. He should have told me about you." 

"Can't lay too much blame on him. I mean Andrew didn't tell you, either," Spike immediately mentioned. 

Buffy threw up her hands in frustration. "Andrew? He knew, too? What, did everyone in the world except Dawn and me get tipped off about you first?" 

"Just Angel and Wesley and Fred and Lorne and Gunn. Andrew saw me when he came to Los Angeles." 

"Why didn't you mention this before? If I'd known Andrew had seen you, I could have confirmed your story with him." 

Spike hesitated, seeing the trap he had accidentally made for himself, then reluctantly went on. "Because I had told him not to let you know I was back." 

"So if I'd talked to him, you would have come out of the conversation looking even worse than you do now," Buffy concluded, all too accurately. "This doesn't mean I'm still not pissed off at him, of course. He should have told me the truth no matter what you said. You did an awful lot of lying and covering up throughout all of this. Is there anything else I don't know yet? Anything at all? You'd better tell me, because if I find out later that you left something out, you won't like what happens." 

From the expression on her face, Spike believed her. He shook his head. "You know it all." 

"All right." Buffy stood up. "I have to make some phone calls and see if I can get in touch with Angel and have him come over. You." She pointed at Spike. "Go up to my room and stay there. Don't get into any more trouble." 

Obediently, Spike slunk back up to Buffy's room. Soon he would be on his way back to Los Angeles, leaving Buffy and Dawn behind forever. He reminded himself that he should be happy they had both been doing fine without him, but this thought only made him feel worse. 

He trudged into the room and then he saw it, sticking out from under the bed: the diary he had never had the opportunity to finish reading. A tempting corner protruded from the shadows. It was as good as asking him to pick it. So Spike did. He looked at the diary. Buffy was busy downstairs. She probably didn't want to see him again for a long while anyway, so she would never know how he chose to amuse himself in the meantime. 

Mind made up, Spike carried the diary over to the bed and settled down to complete his perusal of it. He flipped through the pages, hunting for the place where he'd left off, his awkward hands occasionally ripping pages as he searched. Finally he located the correct spot and began to read. 

The door opened. "Spike, I--" Buffy said. 

She abruptly stopped. Spike didn't have to look up to realize why. He braced himself, knowing he had to be working on Buffy's last nerve and couldn't expect any more mercy. 

"Find anything interesting in there?" she asked. 

"Um..." Spike didn't know what the safest answer would be. Would he die faster if he said her diary was boring, or if he said it was fascinating? He settled for staring at the wall and wishing he could turn invisible. 

Buffy stepped closer and removed the diary from his grasp, then sat down beside him. "I understand completely, Spike. I really do. You were afraid. Everyone is sometimes." 

"What?" Spike was so surprised, he forgot to look at the wall. Instead, he turned and looked at Buffy. She was being nice and understanding and compassionate, and that had to mean she was lulling him into a false state of security before she slaughtered him. Only she didn't look like she was on the verge of committing homicide (or puppetcide). She actually looked nice and understanding and compassionate, just like she sounded. 

The last time she'd acted this nice toward him, he'd been about to burn to death on the Hellmouth and she'd claimed that she loved him. Spike hardened his heart and turned away. He wasn't going to fall for another act. 

"Spike? What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," he lied. "Sorry I read your diary. I won't do it again." 

"I don't care about--" Buffy stopped. "Okay, I do care about that, but compared to everything else that's gone on, I guess it doesn't matter that much. I wanted to apologize to you. I was so busy being mad at you, I kind of forgot to tell you how happy I am that you're alive. Or undead. Or whatever exactly you are now. Hey, how come you can go out in the sun as a puppet and not be harmed, anyway?" 

Spike lifted one shoulder in a puppety approximation of a shrug. "I don't have to drink blood now, either." 

"That's good. I guess. Look, Spike, what's important here is that you're back.I didn't realize how much I'd miss you until you suddenly weren't around anymore." Buffy took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is that--" 

A hammering on the front door interrupted the conversation before Buffy could complete this statement. Instantly, she pulled away from Spike. "Who's making that racket?" 

Spike tensed. He was pretty sure he knew, and the timing couldn't have been worse. 

Buffy jumped off the bed and jogged down the stairs. Spike followed, reluctantly and more slowly. Halfway down the flight, he stopped. Buffy and Dawn had reached the door at the same time. Buffy opened it and Angel stepped inside, throwing a smoking blanket onto the floor as he did so. 

"Buffy, I have something important to tell you about your puppet," he began. "It isn't real. It's--" 

"Spike. I know." 

"Spike pretending to be..." Angel trailed off. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, you know?" 

"We know the puppet is alive and that he's really Spike," Buffy elaborated. 

"So he told you the truth?" 

"We know everything," Buffy equivocated. 

"Oh." Angel stood for a moment, the wind taken out of his sails. "Well. That's good, then. I was concerned about the situation." 

"You were here two nights ago," Dawn blurted. "If you were so concerned, why didn't you tell us the truth then? We almost didn't find out at all." 

"Quiet, Dawn," Buffy ordered. Then she turned on Angel. "Why didn't you tell us?" 

Angel looked away. "Things were complicated." 

"You didn't want us to know Spike was back," Dawn accused. "Isn't that the truth?" 

"Okay, yeah, it is. Being around him isn't good for Buffy." 

"That's my decision to make," Buffy snapped. 

"Didn't this disaster tell you anything?" Angel replied. "Spike had every chance to be honest with you from the beginning and he didn't take any of them. In fact, he could have called you months ago. Guess what? He didn't." 

"All that is between Spike and me. Not between you and me, or you and Spike." 

Angel sighed. "Buffy, I'm just worried about you. Spike isn't good for you. I mean, if I wasn't, then he definitely isn't." 

Still unnoticed in his position midway down the stairs, Spike bitterly wondered why Angel had to show up and ruin everything. It wasn't fair--none of it was. Angel was a vampire first. Angel got his soul back first. Angel met Buffy first. Angel was even a puppet first. It seemed like Angel had gotten to do everything first, and Spike was constantly at a disadvantage. 

At that moment, Angel glanced up and spotted him. "This is convenient. I don't have to go hunting for him. I'm all set to take Spike back to Los Angeles, just like he agreed. It's for the best. He won't be bothering you again." 

Dawn looked at Buffy. "You're not going to let Angel take Spike, are you?" 

"Yes, I am," Buffy replied. 

It was the answer Spike had expected, but it still hurt to hear that Buffy didn't want him around. Shoulders drooping, he started down the remainder of the stairs. 

"And we're going back with him," Buffy added. 

TBC 


	11. Puppet Petting

_I'll have the R version of this chapter posted at adultfanfiction.net within a couple days. I may be the only author around who writes a PG version first and then has to edit UP to be able to post there. I'm trying to work out a tasteful way to write the R or higher puppet scenes, although I'm not sure that's possible. _

_The R version isn't being posted here for a couple reasons. First, it might end up being NC-17 and that rating isn't allowed here. Second, some people are underage or prefer not to read R or NC-17 stories. _

_If you like puppet stories, check out "When Evil Spuppets Attack," on my favorites list. Story #1856232. I'm not sure where the author is going with it, but the first three chapters are good. Angel and Spike are BOTH puppets in this one._

#############

A couple of hours later, they were all aboard the Wolfram & Hart jet on their way back to Los Angeles. Angel had informed them that because of the superior speed of the jet, the trip should only take a few hours.

Within several minutes of getting on the plane, Spike was already bored and Dawn was also looking around for amusement. Angel noticed their distraction.

"You can go watch movies in the other compartment if you want," he suggested, gesturing to the area to the front. "There seems to be a pretty good selection of DVDs in there."

"Not yet," Buffy objected. "First I want to know how we change Spike back to normal."

"I'm not sure," Angel admitted. "I mean, I think he should have started transforming on his own already and just gradually returned to normal the way I did."

Dawn stared at Angel and giggled.

He looked at her blankly. "What did I say?"

"Nothing, really," said Dawn, trying to rein in her laughter. "It's just that I'm picturing what you must have looked like when you were a puppet."

"He was all forehead and scowl," Spike happily volunteered. "Kind of like how he looks now." He nodded at Angel, who was indeed scowling over this description of his puppet form.

Dawn laughed even harder; Angel's scowl deepened, and he retaliated. "Being turned into a puppet isn't flattering to anyone, Spike. You're proof of that."

Before Spike could defend himself, Dawn stepped in for him. "Spike makes a really cute puppet. Every time I look at him, I want to give him a hug."

Angel's lips twitched. Spike went on the attack. "When I was telling you girls stories before about the wee puppet Angel, I forgot the one about how a werewolf took a special liking to him. And how he watched 'Teletubbies' and 'Barney' for three days instead of doing his supposedly important job. Not to mention the breakfast--"

"Spike!" Buffy clapped a hand over his mouth and looked at Dawn, who was in hysterics, and Angel, who was scowling again. "Everyone, stop it. On second thought, a movie seems like a great idea right about now. Dawn, go pick something out and watch it. Spike, come with me. We need to talk."

Since Buffy had a good hold of his arm and looked perfectly prepared to drag him, Spike decided it was best if he went quietly. He trailed Buffy to a compartment near the rear of the plane and watched as she closed the door to give them some privacy. "So, what do you want to talk about?" he asked, hoping Buffy hadn't come up with yet another reason to be mad at him.

She collapsed into the nearest seat. "I just wanted to get out of the other room. Do you and Angel always snipe at each other like that, or do I just bring out the worst in you two? Don't bother to answer that--I don't think I really want to know. I can't wait till we get you fixed and I have one less problem to worry about."

Spike's heart sank. It couldn't have been more obvious; Buffy was just coming back to Los Angeles because she felt guilty for letting him die on the Hellmouth last year. Even though he hadn't stayed dead. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. Buffy only wanted to make sure he was de-puppetized; that was all. Disgusted with himself, he looked away. "You didn't need to come. I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

"Wait a minute." Buffy's voice rose. "You think I'm here out of pity?"

"Well, aren't you?" Spike snapped.

Buffy sighed. "Spike, you really are stupid. Why do you think I'm on this plane right now? I could have just let Angel take you, and not bothered, you dumb--vampire. Puppet. Whatever. I mean, I have a job back in Rome, and I was making friends, plus Dawn has school. Our lives were even almost normal, till you showed up. Staying there would have been easy, and convenient, and comfortable. But instead, I'm on an evil law firm's jet flying halfway around the world to try to get one of my exes turned from a puppet back into a vampire. I didn't ask for anything this bizarre to happen to me today. The fact that I'm sitting here at this exact moment would tell you something, if you stopped and thought for a second."

Spike wasn't about to get his hopes up yet again. He remained silent and waited for Buffy to finish her speech.

Not getting a reaction out of him, she went on. "I love you, Spike. I tried to tell you that on the Hellmouth and you wouldn't believe me and there wasn't any time to make you, but now there is."

Spike couldn't take anymore. "You didn't love me when I didn't have a soul and then you didn't love me when I got one, and now you're claiming you do just because you're happy I'm alive. You don't need to keep lying to me."

Buffy looked him in the eye. "You still don't believe me? Fine. I'll prove I love you like you are right now--puppet body and all. If I can't convince you, then I promise I'll never say another word about it. Deal?"

Cautiously, Spike nodded. He couldn't help feeling incredibly curious about how Buffy intended to provide this proof. Besides, he didn't think she'd let him out of the room in one piece if he didn't agree to her terms.

"Come here." Buffy beckoned him closer.

Three big puppet steps and Spike was standing in front of her. Even seated, Buffy was taller than he was. She looked down upon him. "How are we going to do this? I guess you'll have to sit on my lap."

"What?" Spike yelped as Buffy grabbed him and pulled him upward.

Once Spike was seated on, yes, Buffy's lap, she tentatively touched his arm. "This isn't so bad. It's almost like old times, right?"

Since he found that he couldn't agree, Spike settled for simply not saying anything. He felt like he might fall off of Buffy's lap at any second. Plus, he wasn't quite sure what she wanted him to do, so he settled for merely maintaining his balance.

Her hand slowly stroked up his arm, which felt pretty good, and moved over to his face. His soft, smooshy, felt face. Spike caught the slight grimace Buffy valiantly tried to hide, and saw the way her spine stiffened a moment before her lips descended upon his. Except that as a puppet, he didn't exactly have lips anymore. Buffy scrabbled for purchase against his mouth before suctioning on.

Spike was extremely disappointed to find that he wasn't really getting anything out of the kiss. Buffy's lips felt so hard, nowhere near the softness of his own mouth. Surely they hadn't always been so firm. He didn't know how he'd ever been able to stand it in the past. It was damp, too, and he could feel her teeth pressing into him. Even when Buffy changed angles, the experience remained frustratingly unmoving. Nevertheless, Spike waited it out. He was giving Buffy every possible chance.

When she finally withdrew, he couldn't have been more relieved. Buffy looked like she shared this emotion, since she shook her head and spat out a bit of lint before speaking again. "I'm sorry, Spike. I just can't do this. It's like making out with Mr. Gordo. Not that I ever did make out with Mr. Gordo, of course, because, stuffed pig and all, but..." Her voice trailed off; then she picked back up. "I mean, you're made of fabric, and you don't have lips, and you're missing two fingers, and even after all this you don't believe me. I can see it in your big felt eyes."

Feeling Buffy's muscles tense under him, Spike hopped off her lap just before she stood up and rushed out of the room. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, so he crept out of the compartment well behind Buffy and watched as she hurried past Angel and into the front section to join Dawn. During the few seconds the door was open, Spike heard Dawn's eager question of, "Buffy, were you just making out with the Spike puppet? What was it like?"

He groaned and looked away, only to realize that Angel had caught every word. That settled it; he was never going to live this one down.

TBC


	12. Perpetual Puppet?

The R version of this story is posted at aff.net. See the link on my profile page. I'm going the same place with both versions; the R one just has some extra material that is, well, R rated, and so far that's only in one chapter but by the time I'm done there'll be more and it might end up more than R. Which of course is why I'm posting a PG version here. I have no interest in breaking ff.net rules by posting material that isn't allowed. If you do check out the copy at aff.net, please leave a review there and tell me which version you prefer, and why.

###########

Last time:

_Feeling Buffy's muscles tense under him, Spike hopped off her lap just before she stood up and rushed out of the room. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, so he crept out of the compartment well behind Buffy and watched as she hurried past Angel and into the front section to join Dawn. During the few seconds the door was open, Spike heard Dawn's eager question of, "Buffy, were you just making out with the Spike puppet? What was it like?"_

_He groaned and looked away, only to realize that Angel had caught every word. That settled it; he was never going to live this one down._

###########

"What did you do to Buffy back there?" Angel immediately asked. "It must have been something. She didn't look very happy when she went running past me."

Spike scowled and hitched himself onto the nearest seat. He wasn't going to answer. He refused to discuss the subject with Angel. If he ignored him, Angel would stop talking. 

Only he didn't. "You must have done something pretty bad, then. Maybe I should go ask Buffy." Angel began to get up, obviously willing to go and have that conversation with Buffy. 

Which was the last thing Spike wanted. "I didn't do anything to her. It was what she did to me." 

"Yes...?" Angel prompted. 

Too late, Spike spotted the trap that had been set for him. "Never mind," he muttered. 

Angel raised an eyebrow. "So you and Buffy really were 'making out,' as Dawn put it? From her reaction, it couldn't have gone too well." 

Spike looked down at his rumpled clothing, sighed, and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm a bloody puppet now. And she didn't really want me even back when I was all vamp, so why would she now?" 

"She tried, though, huh?" Angel mused. 

Spike shrugged again. He definitely wasn't going to give Angel any details. That was just too much to ask. 

There was a brief silence before Angel spoke again. "Nina did, too." 

Spike's head snapped up. He stared at Angel. "What?" 

"Nina. When I was a puppet." 

"Oh." Spike turned away, losing interest. "I heard about how she turned wolfy and mauled you. Wish I could have been there to see it, but since I wasn't, what do I care?" 

Angel shook his head. "No, that little incident isn't the one I meant. I'm talking about regular human Nina, and puppet me. We got kind of close for a while there." 

"Close." Spike studied Angel. "You mean really close?" 

"What can I say? She was curious. Can't blame her. I suppose Buffy was, too." 

"Oh, all right," Spike relented. "You could definitely say that." 

"Ha! I knew it!" Angel exclaimed. "She never would have looked like that if something hadn't happened between you two." 

"It doesn't matter," Spike stubbornly maintained. "She regrets whatever might have happened and it's not going to go any farther. I know it. What do you care, anyway? You hate the idea of me and Buffy being together." 

"I'm not too fond of it," Angel acknowledged. "But it doesn't look like I have very much say in the matter, especially now that Buffy knows you're back. She isn't exactly thrilled that I kept the truth from her. If she's forgiven you already, that means a lot. Besides, if the sight of you as a puppet doesn't scare her off, I guess nothing will." 

On that note, they concluded the discussion about Buffy. Spike didn't even try to argue that he made a handsome and dignified puppet. He didn't believe it himself anymore. He wanted nothing more than to be transformed back to an ordinary vampire and forget the entire puppet disaster. How much longer was the flight going to take, anyway? He sighed, shifted, and tried to sneak a look at Angel's watch. 

"It'll be a while," Angel informed him. He proffered a deck of cards. "Want to play poker?" 

So for the remainder of the flight, Spike attempted to put together some winning hands. His efforts, though, were hampered by the fact that it was very hard to cheat when one possessed thick, awkward fingers that were ill-suited to stealing away good cards. Angel, suffering from no such handicap, kept beating him to it. By the time the plane touched down, Spike was sick of the game (he'd lost heavily) and eager to get back to Wolfram & Hart. He tossed aside his final hand of cards and disembarked from the plane with a feeling of great relief. 

Buffy hadn't shown her face since "The Incident," as Spike privately called it. Upon landing, he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd simply stayed on board and demanded to be taken right back to Rome. However, when Dawn stepped off of the plane, Buffy was right behind her. True, she wasn't looking at Spike, but she wasn't fleeing in disgust, either. 

Uneasily, the little group made their way over to the sunproofed car that was waiting for them. Because of the time difference from Rome, it was afternoon in Los Angeles, but of course Angel was safely able to drive them over to the Wolfram & Hart garage. The conversation in the car was minimal, and mostly consisted of Dawn asking questions and Angel answering. 

Finally, Angel pulled into a parking spot near an elevator bank. Everyone got out of the car and onto the elevator for a quick ride, ending up on the same floor as Fred's laboratory was located. 

"It's not too far," Angel assured Dawn and Buffy. "I called ahead, and Fred, Gunn, Lorne, and Wesley should be waiting for us." He looked down at Spike. "Want me to carry you?" 

"No!" Spike snapped. No way was he going to stoop to that level. He still had a few tattered shreds of dignity left. He stiffened his back, stood as tall as he could, and strode forward on his short little legs, taking three steps to every one of Angel's. 

A few feet behind him, he heard Dawn whisper, "Go on, Buffy, pick him up." 

As he fully expected, Spike heard Buffy mumble an excuse. He began to trot more quickly, anxious to get to the lab and end his ordeal. It would be best for everyone. He stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice the amused looks he was attracting from the numerous people they passed on their way. There was the lab, hardly any distance at all now. And then they were inside, Angel holding the door open for Spike. 

He stopped dead. Gunn, Wesley, Lorne, and Fred were indeed all there, staring at him. "If one more person calls me cute, or adorable, or sweet, or precious...." Spike allowed this warning to trail off. 

Fred, who had been on the verge of speech, snapped her mouth shut. Wesley intervened. "We're all glad you're safe, Spike. We were concerned about you. Yes, even Angel. Especially Angel, I might say." He looked past Spike. "Buffy, Dawn. It's good to see you again." 

The two moved farther into the room. While Wesley performed introductions, Spike looked around. Surely they must have a piece of equipment, some item, that they planned to use to fix him. He saw several possibilities; which one would be his salvation? He cleared his throat. The others all turned to look at him. "Well? Hurry up; change me back." 

"Um, Spike, " Fred said hesitantly, "it isn't going to be quite that easy. We were talking about it, and we all think you should have changed back on your own by now, like Angel did. He didn't need any special intervention. We're really not sure what's wrong with you. But an examination might help us figure it out," she hastened to add. 

"Fix me," Spike begged. "Whatever you have to do." 

"Wesley and I will need to examine you." 

Spike nodded. "Fine." Then he looked around. Angel, Buffy, and Dawn showed no signs of leaving. "Do we need an audience?" 

"Oh! No, of course not. Just Wesley and me." Fred looked at the rest of the group. "I guess Spike wants some privacy. If you guys could wait outside? Maybe Angel can show you and Dawn around, Buffy." 

Slowly, Gunn, Lorne, Buffy, Angel, and Dawn retreated. Once they were alone, Wesley and Fred turned to Spike. "We need to know everything," Wesley stated. 

Over the next hour, while he underwent a physical examination, Spike related nearly every detail of his experiences that he could recall, omitting only a few of the more embarrassing moments. Fred and Wesley paid particular attention to the washing-machine-and-dryer saga, though neither would say if they credited his problems to that disaster. Finally they finished with him and looked at each other. 

"What do you think?" said Fred. 

"We'll have to try everything we can," replied Wesley. With that, he picked up the telephone and called several individuals. Within another two hours, Spike had been examined, chanted over, poked at, and displayed before a Charlak demon, a Siberian witch, two very ugly humans, a creature that looked like a slug with wings, and a priest from the Ylun clan. None made the slightest difference in his condition. 

After the priest left, there came a rapping on the lab door and then Buffy burst in, followed by Dawn and Angel. "I can't wait any longer," Buffy announced. "What's going on with Spike?" 

"As you can see," Wesley replied, "he is still a puppet. Unfortunately." 

"I was fine before I opened that trunk in the storage room," Spike reminded him. "Something in the trunk did this to me. Bring that in here and it'll restore me, right?" 

Wesley shook his head. "I'm afraid that's impossible." 

Fred picked up the explanation. "Spike, the trunk was destroyed before we knew what happened to you. All the stuff in that room was. We can't use it to help you. That's why we tried everything else--the witch, and the demons, and the priest. To see if they could somehow help. Only they couldn't." 

"What do you mean?" Spike demanded, a terrible feeling spreading from the pit of his stomach. 

"We mean," Wesley said, "that we're very sorry, but you might very well remain a puppet forever." 

TBC


End file.
